Agatha Christie - Hickory Dickory Dock

"Ah! You throw that in my teeth? Is it my fault that people come here and He to me and have forged papers and are wanted to assist the police in murder cases? And you reproach me for what I have suffered!"

"I'm doing nothing of the kind. I only point out that it wouldn't be exactly a novelty to have the police here comI daresay it's inevitable with a mixed lot of students. But the fact is that no one has "called in the police." A private detective with a big reputation happened to dine here as my guest last night. He gave a very interesting talk on criminology to the students."

"As if there were any need to talk about criminology to our students! They know quite enough already. Enough to steal and destroy and sabotage as they like! And nothing is done about it-nothing!"

"I have done something about it."

"Yes, you have told this friend of yours all about our most intimate affairs. That is a gross breach of confidence."

"Not at all. I'm responsible for running this place. I'm glad to tell you the matter is now cleared up. One of the students has confessed that she has been responsible for most of these happenings."

"Dirty little cat," said Mrs. Nicoletis. "Throw her into the street."

"She is ready to leave of her own accord and she is making full reparation."

"What is the good of that? My beautiful Students' Home will now have a bad name. No one will come." Mrs. Nicoletis sat down on the sofa and burst into tears. "Nobody thinks of my feelings," she sobbed. "It is abominable, the way I am treated. Ignored! Thrust aside! If I wete to die tomorrow, who would care?" Wisely leaving this question unanswered, Mrs. Hubhard left the room. "May the Almighty give me patience," said Mrs. Hubbard to herself and went down to the kitchen to interview Maria.

Maria was sullen and uncooperative. The word "police" hovered unspoken in the air.

"It is I who will rather be accused. I and Geronimo-the povero. What justice can you expect in a foreign land?

No, I cannot cook the risotto as you suggest. They send the wrong rice. I make you instead the spaghetti."

"We had spaghetti last night."

"It does not matter. In my country we eat the spaghetti every day-every single day. The pasta, it is good all the time."

"Yes, but you're in England now."

"Very well then, I make the stew. The English stew. You will not like it but I make it-pale-palewith the onions boiled in much water instead of cooked in the oil-and pale meat on cracked bones." Maria spoke so menacingly that Mrs. Hubbard felt she was listening to an account of a murder.

"Oh, cook what you like," she said angrily and left the kitchen.

By six o'clock that evening, Mrs. Hubbard was once more her efficient self again. She had put notes in all the students' rooms asking them to come and see her before dinner, and when the various summonses were obeyed, she explained that Celia had asked her to arrange matters. They were all, she thought, very nice about it.

Even Genevieve, softened by a generous estimate of the value of her compact, said cheerfully that all would be sans rancune and added with a wise air, "One knows that these crises of the nerves occur. She is rich, this Celia, she does not need to steal.

No, it is a storm in her head. M. McNabb is right there." Len Bateson drew Mrs. Hubbard aside as she came down when the dinner bell rang.

"I'll wait for Celia out in the hall," he said, "and bring her in. So that she sees it's all right."

"That's very nice of you, Len."

"That's O.K., Ma." In due course, as soup was being passed round, Len's voice was heard booming from the hall.

"Come along in, Celia. All friends here." Nigel remarked waspishly to his soup plate, "Done his good deed for the day!" but otherwise controlled his tongue and waved a hand of greeting to Celia as she came in with Len's large arm passed round her shoulders.

There was a general outburst of cheerful conversation on various topics and Celia was appealed to by one and the other.

Almost inevitably this manifestation of goodwill died away into a doubtful silence. It was then that MT. Akibombo turned a beaming face towards Celia and leaning across the table said: "They have explained me good now all that I did not understand. You very clever at steal things. Long time nobody know. Very clever." At this point Sally Finch, gasping out, "Akibombo, you'll be the death of me," had such a severe choke that she had to go out in the hall to recover. And the laughter broke out in a thoroughly natural fashion.

Colin McNabb came in late. He seemed reserved and even more uncommunicative than usual. At the close of the meal and before the others had finished he got up and said in an embarrassed mumble, "Got to go out and see someone. Like to tell you all first Celia and I-hope to get married next year when I've done my course." The picture of blushing misery, he received the congratulations and jeering cat-calls of his friends and finally escaped, looking terribly sheepish.

Celia, on the other side, was pink and composed.

"Another good man gone West," sighed Len Bateson.

"I'm so glad, Celia," said Patricia.

"I hope you'll be very happy."

"Everything in the garden is now perfect," said Nigel.

"Tomorrow we'll bring some chianti in and drink your health. Why is our dear Jean looking so grave? Do you disapprove of marriage, Jean?"

"Of course not, Nigel."

"I always think it's so much better than Free Love, don't you? Nicer for the children. Looks better on their passports."

"But the mother should not be too young," said Genevieve. "They tell one that in comthe Physiology classes."

"Really, dear," said Nigel, "you're not suggesting that Celia's below the age of consent or anything like that, are you? She's free, white, and twenty-one."

"That," said Mr. Chandra Lal, "is a most offensive remark."

"No, no, Mr. Chandra Lal," said Patricia. "It's just a-a kind of idiom. It doesn't mean anything."

"I do not understand," said Mr. Akibombo. "If a thing does not mean anything, why should it be said?"

Elizabeth Johnston said suddenly, raising her voice a little, "Things are sometimes said comt do not seem to mean anything but they mean a good deal. No, it is not your American quotation I mean. I am talking of something else." She looked round the table. "I am talking of what happened yesterday."

Valerie said sharply, "What's up, Bess?"

"Oh, please," said Celia. "T think-I really do-that by tomorrow everything will be cleared up. I really mean it. The ink on your papers, and that silly business of the rucksack. And if-if the person owns up, like I've done, then everything will be cleared up." She spoke earnestly, with a flushed face, and one or two people looked at her curiously.

Valerie said with a short laugh, "And we'll all live happy ever afterwards." Then they got up and went into the Common Room. There was quite a little competition to give Celia her coffee. Then the wireless was turned on, some students left to keep appointments or to work and finally the inhabitants of 24 and 26 Hickory Road got to bed.

It had been, Mrs. Hubbard reffected, as she climbed gratefully betweenthe sheets, a long wearying day.

"But thank goodness," she said to herself. "It's all over now."

Miss LEMON WAS SELDOM, if ever, unpunctual. Fog, storm, epidemics of flu, transport breakdowns-none of these things seemed to affect that remarkable woman. But this morning Miss Lemon arrived, breathless, at five minutes past ten instead of on the stroke of ten o'clock. She was profusely apologetic and for her, quite ruffled.

"I'm extremely sorry, Mr. Poirot-really extremely sorry. I was just about to leave the flat when my sister rang up."

"Ah, she is in good health and spirits, I trust?"

"Well, frankly no." Poirot looked inquiring. "In fact, she's very distressed. One of the students has committed suicide." Poirot stared at her. He muttered something softly under his breath.